


Glad It's You

by paperpenpal



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Banter, Day 3: Scars, F/M, Fluff, No Beta, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sylvgrid Week (Fire Emblem), can be read as platonic, i'm so tired i'm not even sure what words are anymore so this fic is uh...a thing i guess, warning: gratuitous use of italics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24535294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperpenpal/pseuds/paperpenpal
Summary: Sylvain does something stupid.  Ingrid scolds him.  Again.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28
Collections: Sylvgrid week 2020





	Glad It's You

The force of which Ingrid bursts through the classroom door shocks both Felix and Sylvain into place.

For a moment, just a moment, everything is quiet and nobody moves.

Felix, arms crossed, leans against a table opposite of where Sylvain’s sits on a desk, feet dangling as he nurses an ice pack against his face.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Ingrid seethes from the doorway, hands on both her hips as she glares straight at Sylvain.

Felix snorts as Sylvain groans in his direction. “You told her?”

“Don’t look at me,” Felix says before approaching Ingrid, clapping her on the shoulder. “He’s all yours.”

Sylvain looks affronted, his jaw goes slack as he pulls the ice pack away so he can better glare at Felix. “You’re leaving me to fend for myself?”

“Yes,” Felix says marching out the door without a second glance.

Ingrid sets her glare full force on Sylvain.

He visibly gulps but says nothing until Ingrid comes to stand in front of him. Her hands resettle on her hips. Her eyebrows are furrowed deep with disapproval and Sylvain wonders exactly how long this lecture will take.

He guesses maybe five minutes, judging by her expression and the way she tries not to tap her toes. He has gotten very good at guessing with Ingrid. This is not the first time they’ve been here. He’s lost count of how many times they’ve been here, although it is the first time he is nursing a black eye.

“Well?” Ingrid says.

Sylvain considers his words. He’s trying to figure out the one that will shave a minute off of the lecture that sits on her tongue. “Sorry?” He chances.

He watches as Ingrid huffs. Nothing on her expression changes, which tells him that he has only succeeded in adding a minute.

“You’re an idiot,” she states.

Ah, so she already knows or at least has an inkling of what has happened. He really wonders who told her if not Felix.

“How was I supposed to know she had a sister?” he defends, but it’s too much, too big of a movement, and he winces at the way it makes his left eye sting.

“A sister that you took out,” she scolds, pausing for effect, “ _t_ _he night before Sylvain._ ”

She snatches the ice pack from his hands as she says it and presses it a little too roughly against his face. The force of it makes him hiss without meaning to and watches her notice, feels her become more gentle as she tends to him, still exasperated, but more careful.

“Yeah, that…was not my finest moment.”

She pulls the ice pack away to examine his eye, frowning deeply as her free hand tilts his chin. “This is pretty bad Sylvain,” she says gently, tiredly.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs. “I’m a jerk.”

Ingrid shakes her head. “No not that - well, actually, _yes, that,_ because you are completely out of line here,” she can’t help but say, “but I meant your eye. What did she hit you with, the corner of a book?”

“She had a ring on,” he explains. “A big one.”

“You’re bleeding,” she tells him.

“Ah,” Sylvain shrugs. “Well, I’ve had worse.”

Ingrid frowns. “Do you even know her name?”

“Er-”

“Unbelievable.” She sighs, annoyed and exasperated.

She doesn’t have any aid supplies with her but upon closer inspection, the cut from the ring, right on his cheekbone, does not look that deep or that wide.

“To be fair,” he says, “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know my name either.”

“I highly doubt that.”

When he gives her a confused look, she explains while pressing the ice back onto his bruise, careful to avoid the cut, “you’re a lot more popular than you realize Sylvain.”

“Oh?” He smirks, raising his eyebrow.

“I meant that everyone knows who you are.”

His shoulders sag back down, disappointed. “Yeah…you’re probably right.”

Popular for all the wrong reasons but he doesn’t want to sulk about that right now, he’d rather sulk about the fact that he’d just been punched in the face, hard, but really it was his pride that hurt more than anything.

“Think it’ll scar?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “Unlikely, especially if you get someone to heal you.”

“Damn,” he tells her. “Chicks dig face scars.”

If it wasn’t for the fact that he was already injured, Ingrid would have flicked him directly on the forehead.

“You’re the worst.”

“You love me anyway.”

“And it’s exhausting.” She groans, handing the ice back to him. He shuffles to the side, making room for her on the desk.

She doesn’t hoist herself up on the table but she does lean her hip against it, body facing him.

“I should probably apologize to her huh?” He frowns, looking, for once, a little bit guilty.

“Her and her sister Sylvain,” she says, crossing her arms. “You need to apologize to both of them.”

“I _really_ don’t want to get punched again.”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I calmed her down. She’s still rightfully angry but she won’t hit you. Not again. _I_ might though- if you don’t.”

Sylvain knows she means the last bit more as a joke than as a threat, but, even then, the way she says it tells him he really needs to apologize and soon. Besides, it’s the right thing to do. He might not be the nicest guy in the world, not when it comes to this, but he has some decency after all. And this time, it really was on him.

“Thanks Ingrid.” He musters up his best and most genuine grin. “I will. I promise.”

“Promise me another thing?”

“What?”

“Try not to do anything stupid for at least the rest of the week? Please?”

He looks at Ingrid, thinks of all the things she does for him and smiles. “Alright,” he says, “I can do that.”

He owes her that much at least. Hell, sometimes, he thinks he owes her a little bit of everything.

She breathes a sigh of relief and he can’t but smile at the way her face relaxes. He loves riling her up, it’s fun and Ingrid is always ready for it, but he likes this too. She is sharp, strong, and steady, sure, but she has a lightness to her too, a softness that only comes out on rare occasions. It is easiest to coax out after they banter.

“Okay,” she says after a while, grabbing onto his arm in an attempt to tug him off the desk, “Come on, time to go.”

“Now?” He pouts, leaning further into the ice and tries to look more wounded than he actually is.

“Yes now, or you’ll never do it,” she says, pulling him fully off, “come on, I’ll go with you.”

“Hey!” he cries, feigning resistance, “is this how you treat an injured friend?”

“You’ll survive,” she says, deadpan, but he can still see a hint of her smile as if she’s trying to hide her amusement.

“Only because you’re there to make sure I do.” He grins, nudging.

“Well someone has to.”

“Glad it’s you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying to make a point of making my sylvgrid week ficlets lighthearted but by god, how do you make the prompts _scars_ and _sacrifice_ lighthearted? 
> 
> Oof, it was a challenge, so I ended up just slipping a small comment about it in here.
> 
> Also, I tried really hard to get this in by midnight but I started really late. But it's...only 45 minutes after so I kind of did it? Yay?


End file.
